{November 24, 2013}   NO PINK RIBBONS FOR US

Always Seem To Be Alone 

Why can no one understand how we feel inside, a carcass ravaged by internal demons we have no control over. Sitting, standing, talking and feeling something other than yourself moving through your body, moving through your mind, talking to your mind, while your outside self just stands and smiles and cries and cuts to make it go away.

Why is it we love people but they hurt us by not believing, not believing that it can be true that under our skin lives the devil and we cannot, cannot control all the time the sensations, thoughts, fears, insidiousness that lives within us.

Yet, they see our outsides and think what, that we are faking all of this, that we are moody and mopey. That **** you, under that moody and mopey we are trying to survive and we want you to help us, love us, feel us, just take one small moment of your smug perfection and believe us when we say the pain is excruciating.

Do we need to have spores, sores, cuts and bruises to warrant any sympathy, for you to believe that we hurt more than those cancer patients on days, than the HIV patients that are dying like we are, than the diabetics who crash as we do. Can you not believe we are sick because we don’t have pink ribbons and yellow bands, that donors are not lining up to support our cause, and in that case what we have is a lie? That we make this up FOR YOUR ATTENTION? Who in their right mind wants to die for attention? 

I spend hours counting my pills, imagining the peace I would get if I ate them one by one, feeling the drug course through me till I hit Sleeping Beauty sleep to never awaken again. But I cant die because I have children, i stay in this hell because I have 2 living beings that need me, need me to suffer through hell for them so they can live the happy life I did not get. I take the pills, i do the exercises, i fight through the episodes, I cry through the pain, i curse the demons and I smile and I smile and when I don’t smile, I am upsetting you, you my family, you my friends, you my boyfriend, because then I am not normal and I don’t have a pink ribbon to show you how sick I am. Im melodramatic, I am exaggerating, I am moody, I am childish but never am I sick, can you never see me as sick? Because I hate you, I am sick and no one sees me, no one sees me ever, I am a dying cancer patient in the corner and you feel like you should punish me for over reacting, mental illness, what a joke. Because the only time I will get your tears and your need to help is when I am dead, and then you’ll join the groups, you’ll donate the money, you’ll walk the walk but by then, I’ll be dead, and by then, I wont care. This Sleeping Beauty, once dead, will never return to finally see the sympathy in all your eyes, that, yes, maybe she was sick, and she did need us. 

I am screaming in this corner. I have paced the house, I have felt the knives, I have licked the pills but I don’t have permission to die, I don’t have permission to ******* die because I owe my children life, this bastardized, painful life I live. I want to run the car off the road, ram the knife through my gut, drink down the pills, cut the life cord and finally find happiness and peace.

I WANT TO DIE. I am locked in a room, with no where to go, no voice to be heard, no outlet, no one that can feel this. The only people that know me are the doctors, the hospitals, only they know the pain. Even with the government examining all my medical records and declaring me handicapped my own boyfriend still believes that this is all a figment, that how I am is an act, an act to give him stress, to ruin his projects, to take away from his time, his girlfriend isnt sick, she’s pretending, 30 ******* years of pretending to be crazy, weeks locked up in a crazy hole, yeah, normal people we like to do that, try to commit suicide, try to get locked up, so you can call us moody and mopey and ruin your important projects. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH yes, I am pretending. Pretending to be crazy so I can live off of CPP, which of course he asks if thats what I am satisfied doing? Why don’t I get a job, get a career, work full time, you ******* *******, I CANNOT, last time I did they locked me in a room for a week so I wouldn’t slit my wrists. The next time the sedated me in a hospital for a week I couldn’t move to pee. YES IM LYING, I LIKE LIVING THIS WAY. YOU ******* IDIOT ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO LISTEN, TO HOLD ME, not to judge, criticize, tell me everything i do wrong, everything i should do, why my behaviour, my crazy behaviour is inapproprriate and embarrassing to him. 

If I cut myself to release the pain I will be judged. If I sedate myself I will be judged. If I try and explain that I am dying here, I will be judged. What do I do???? I am trapped and I just want to sink into a hole and never be seen again. I want to get hit by a bus, get murdered, be in a life threatening car crash,so if I do die, its not not my fault, and I am not judged.Image

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et cetera
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